


Demon of the first innings

by MildredMost



Category: David Blaize - E. F. Benson
Genre: Boarding School, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Past Underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8924692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MildredMost/pseuds/MildredMost
Summary: Adams smoked his pipe for a little in silence.“By the way, you pull all right with Cruikshank now, don’t you?” he asked.“Rather. I used to bar him awfully, but we—well, we had a talk after Hughes was sent away, and decided to get on better together. Crookles is a good chap.”
Frank and Cruikshank have an honest talk at last.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilliburlero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilliburlero/gifts).



Cruikshank looked up from the newspaper on his desk as Frank Maddox and David burst into the study, chattering.

“...most dreadful piffle, but...Hullo Crookles, how were your hols? Naseby was ripping, wasn’t it Maddox? I say, look at your tea things all tumbled together like that. Why don’t I…”

“Leave that David, you’re not fagging for me any more,” said Frank, aware of a certain amount of atmosphere emanating from Cruikshank. David let go of the butter dish with a clatter.

“Right oh. You’ve got that rotten little Jevons with his everlasting sniffles, haven’t you. Oh,” said David, reaching into his pocket. “Here’s the Keats I said I'd loan you. Don’t flog it, will you? I know how you’re tempted by filthy lucre.”

“Damned cheek,” said Frank. “I’d whack you for that but it's too hot to be bothered. Go on Blazes, Bags has been looking for you.”

David shoved the book at Frank and clattered off down the corridor, whistling loudly through his teeth.

Frank closed the door behind him, then perched on the desk by Cruikshank, delving straight into the worn volume he held. Cruikshank said nothing but bent back over his newspaper. Well, Frank would be hanged if he were the first to speak. If Cruikshank wanted to glower, let him glower.

There was a rustle as Cruikshank folded the newspaper, and then folded his arms. Frank merely turned a page and began on Endymion.

“Reading Keats together now?” said Cruikshank, and Frank looked up. “Is David the ' _still unravish'd bride of quietness_ ’?”

Frank shot him a look and saw Cruikshank's handsome face flushed with temper. He’d thought they’d been getting on rather better, but this seemed like a return to old hostilities.

“I’m not sure of the question you’re asking,” he said coldly. “But if you can’t ask it straight then don’t bother.”

Cruikshank lounged back in the desk chair he was sitting in, and picked up a cricket ball. He began throwing it up and catching it, and there was something satisfyingly neat in the way he did it, with the muscles in his forearm working under his smooth suntanned skin. Frank banished an unwanted image of running his fingers along that skin to see if it was warm or cool.

“You heard about Hughes, I suppose?” he said next. Frank stiffened.

“Yes. Adams wrote and told me. Filthy business.”

“Rather a shame if you ask me. He never struck me as the beastly sort; at least, not at first,” said Cruikshank, the edge in his voice only discernable to someone as attuned to it as Frank.

Frank slapped the Keats closed.

“If you’re going to jaw me about it then let’s get it over,” he said. “I’d rather that than you sitting in judgement on me like Minos on his throne.”

“Just thought you might have something to say about it, that’s all,” said Cruikshank, continuing to throw and catch the ball in an infuriating manner. 

“Well I don’t as it happens. But Lord, don’t let me ruin an opportunity for you to show me what a benighted sinner I am,” Maddox said, voice rising.

“Frank..."

“If only we could all be like you, Crookles. Never stumbling upon the path of Righteousness, never plagued by, by beastly urges that you’d give _anything_ to…”

“Dry up for a minute will you,” said Cruikshank angrily. " Let’s thrash this out once and for all. I’m not some plaster saint; far from it.”

“So what is it, then,” said Frank. “Ever since you saw Hughes and I that day you’ve never let me hear the end of it. I know it was a filthy, awful thing to do, and I’ve repented as hard as I can. But why me? Why aren’t you furious with Smythe, or Forster, or any of the others? They all do it.”

“Because they’re not _decent_ like you,” Cruikshank said, and Frank closed his mouth, utterly blind-sided.

“We’ve come up through school together Frank,” Cruikshank said. “I know you’re a good chap. It's because I think so jolly much of you that I've been so furious with you."

He put the cricket ball down on the desk top, screwing it back and forth as though he wanted to drive it into the table itself. Then he picked it up again. He seemed on the brink of saying something important, and Frank sat in silence, waiting. Cruikshank took a deep breath.

"We fagged together for study no.4 when we were in the fourth. Do you remember what that was like?”

Frank shifted a little on the edge of the desk. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about this.

“You for Jenkins, me for Brown. You remember what it was like with Jenkins,” said Cruikshank, concentrating intently on the ball he was throwing from hand to hand. “What he’d get you to do.”

Frank hesitated then nodded, his stomach turning over.

“Well Brown was like that too, only…” Cruikshank stopped throwing the ball and held it tightly between both of his hands. He still didn’t look at Frank. “Only he’d go much further. And he’d hit you while he was…or afterwards. Sometimes with a strap but mostly just his hand. He seemed to need to.”

He fell silent, and Frank felt shaky with disgust. Jenkins had certainly never hit him, but he’d been...insistent. And it hadn’t been altogether unpleasant, but sometimes after Jenkins had finished, and Frank had to get up off dusty knees and clean the study and make the tea with Jenkins looking on, it had felt utterly utterly dreadful.

“I didn’t know,” he said and the tremble in his voice made Cruikshank look up at him at last.

“How could you have? I didn’t tell. I thought that was how things worked. And it is. But I vowed I would never do it myself. And when we got this study together and you...you started with Hughes, I’m afraid I rather saw red.”

“I…” Frank faltered, feeling horrified. He had rarely looked at his behaviour as a whole like this, as part of a frightening pattern of things that had been done to him and things he had done to others. He'd always only allowed himself to think of things as isolated incidents. Yet here was Cruikshank, laying it all out before him. “I didn’t ever force him. We didn’t even go very far, it was all very…” He stopped. _Innocent_ he had been about to say. He felt sick.

“Don’t you see?" said Cruikshank earnestly. "It isn’t that he wanted to. Perhaps he did. Most likely he did; he came here looking for you once or twice after you threw him over for David, and offered a couple of rather filthy things to me that I declined to take him up on. That hasn't been my sticking point. My point is, that if he _didn’t_ want to, he most probably felt he couldn’t say no to you.”

“Of course he…”

“He hero worshipped you Frank. All the lower school do. You’re so blessedly pleasant to them all. That part isn’t your fault. But you must know you’re a golden god to them. They're desperate to impress you. Hughes never placed high in form, and while he’s a very good player, he isn’t a star at cricket like some. But he _is_ terribly good looking. So when you asked him...I assume _you_ asked him. Then perhaps he felt, here was something that he...”

“ _Crookles_ ,” said Frank, feeling crucified. “Please, don’t.”

“I don’t think you did any of it out of beastliness or anything. But you swooped down on Hughes and dazzled him I suppose. Like Brown dazzled me, at first. And I wanted to strangle you.”

“ _T_ _he Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold_ ,” said Frank and gave a harsh laugh.

“I just don’t think older boys should…” Cruikshank shrugged his shoulders. “It isn’t fair.”

Frank was slammed by a sickening memory of a fourth year Crookles, trying to cry silently into his blankets. When he’d asked him, Crookles had told him some tale of an ill grandmother and Frank had let it alone. He wondered if Hughes had ever cried about what they had done, or stopped doing. He had barely thought about him at all since David came along and made him clean again. He'd only thought of his own salvation.

“If it helps, I absolutely disgust myself,” Frank said.

“Well that doesn’t help at all,” Cruikshank said lightly. “Because perhaps that means I'll disgust you too.”

“What do you mean?” said Frank. “You’re the straightest chap I know, excepting David. Don’t talk rot.”

Cruikshank scrubbed a hand across his face.

“I know you’ve despised me and thought me most awfully pi. And that suited me, I liked being at odds with you, it made me feel better about how I really felt.”

“What awful piffle, Crookles.”

“Not piffle at all. You see,” said Cruikshank, flushing a dark ugly red, “I have no trouble at all with the things you were doing in and of themselves. Being with someone like that, I...longed for it. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t let myself take advantage, do you see? And anyhow, I'd hoped that if you'd ever wanted to do anything like that off your own bat, that..." he finished in a rush. "That you'd want to do it with me.”

Frank stared for a long moment.

"You never said," he said at last, stupidly. "You didn't ever say."

"I know, that's what makes my barring of you so damned idiotic," said Cruikshank, looking down at his hands.

Frank looked at Cruikshank in wonder, taking in the sweep of his long eyelashes and the breadth of his shoulders. He remembered all the times they had bathed together and dressed together and how often he had tried desperately not to notice the athletic beauty of him. And all the while, Crookles might have been doing the same thing.

“And you and David?” Cruikshank asked.

Frank paused.

“It’s nothing like that,” he said eventually. “I can’t talk about it without it sounding like a pompous ass. But he’s saved me Crookles. I can’t explain...he’s burned all that out of me, like an absolution or something. I barely think about that sort of thing now.” And if he hadn't been feeling so distracted by Cruikshank's confessions, and the way he bit down on his full lower lip when he made them, he would have believed it too.

Cruikshank raised an eyebrow at him and shook his head. “Lord, Frank,” he said, “ The knots you tie yourself in.”

Frank looked him directly in the eye. "I hope you know I am most dreadfully sorry," he said. "I'll be sorry for the rest of my life. And I'd love to be friendly again if you can bear it."

"I do know and I'm sorry too. I was just so damned afraid of being tempted myself I was extra hard on you when you succumbed." He sighed and threw the ball against the wall, where it bounced straight into the waste paper basket.

Frank relaxed a little. Cruikshank and he had reached an uneasy pax it seemed. “Is this why you never give your fags the time of day?”

“Partly. Some of that is just my delightful bloody nature. And anyhow, I can't imagine for a minute they care. I’m not quite as glamorous as you.”

“Not true,” said Frank. “I’m sure there are half a dozen little scugs in the lower fourth right this minute just longing for you to gate them or set them 50 lines of Euclid.”

“Oh well, I know _you_ worship me,” said Cruikshanks. “I’ve often thought It must be terribly overwhelming to share a study with the fastest bowler Marchester’s ever had. You must lie awake at night positively brooding about it. ' _Oh, I do hope Crookles notices me today, I’ve been working so hard at my batting._ ’”

“Ha ha, very good,” said Frank. “Don’t strain yourself.”

Cruikshank grinned at him suddenly; his white teeth even in his tanned face, and hazel eyes crinkling up at the edges. Frank felt a lifting, lightening sensation, as though he’d been carrying Cruikshank’s disapproval around with him like the invisible chains of Hephaestus. He grinned back and nudged Cruikshank with a foot. Cruikshank grabbed his ankle and Frank’s heart beat a little faster.

“Just so you know, you don’t dazzle _me_. I’m not the least bit impressed with your batting average or your racquets scores, or your elegant Greek construes,” said Cruikshank, tugging Frank gently to the edge of the desk.

“You damned well should be,” said Frank, breathlessly.

“Conceited ass,” said Cruikshank affectionately, wrapping his free hand around Frank’s other leg and pulling. He looked up at Frank steadily and Frank teetered on the edge for a moment, mouth drying and pulse skittering out of control.  This was _Cruikshank_ , this was... But something in the blazing look Cruikshank gave him made him release his hold on the desk and slide off into Cruikshank’s lap. Cruikshank put a hand in his hair and another on his waist, and held him tightly.

“Of course, you are rather good looking,” he said, his lips almost brushing Frank’s. “I’ve certainly been dazzled by that from time to time.”

“What rot you do talk,” murmured Frank, eyes closing as Cruikshank closed the gap between them.

The warm press of Cruikshank’s lips against his own was nothing like the tight-lipped, hesitant kisses he and Hughes had exchanged. This was slow and softly insistent, with the tantalising scrape of stubble on his jaw and strong fingers tugging in his hair. His whole body fired with heat at the feel of Cruikshank against him, so much taller and stronger, his tongue teasing Frank's lips apart. He wriggled against Cruikshank who gasped into his mouth, and moved again so that his own hardness met Cruikshank’s.

Crookles groaned with pleasure and said “I won’t last the innings,” which made Frank laugh despite his arousal. Then Cruikshank took control, grinding into him until their languorous kisses turned to bites and moans and they fell into a frantic thrusting rhythm.

“ _Frank_ ,” Cruikshank gasped after a few moments, and Frank felt him arch and shudder; watched his kiss-bitten mouth fall open, heard the helpless sounds he made. And _oh, yes_ , Frank heard himself ask for Cruikshank’s hand on him, and Cruikshank obliged, dragging kisses along Frank’s neck while the sweet pressure of his fingers teased and teased till Frank begged and he ended him in seconds. Frank let out a cry as he spent and Cruikshank muffled him with one large hand.

Frank wrapped his arms around Cruikshank’s shoulders for a minute, resting his cheek against his hair. Cruikshank held him tightly at the waist, then gave a contented sigh and sat back.

Frank felt a stab of panic as the moment broke apart. It made no sense, but it felt like a betrayal of David. It hadn't felt wrong, but Lord knew he was no judge of that and he had told David so emphatically that he had put all that behind him, and never even thought about filth like that any more...

It must have shown on his face, as Cruikshank suddenly said “Don’t you dare, Maddox,” and kissed him hard.

“Don’t I dare what,” he said rather faintly as Cruikshank released him again.

“Get all _Maddoxy_ about it. Rush off to Chapel and start flagellating or whatever it is you do,” he said, standing up with Frank still in his lap as though he weighed nothing much at all, and tipping him gently back onto the desk.

“I suppose Saint Crookles has absolved me of all sin?”  said Frank, only half joking.

“I could whack you if you like,” offered Cruikshank, stretching luxuriously and then leaning over and catching Frank’s mouth in another quick kiss. “One stroke for every minute you just enjoyed yourself.”

“Beast,” said Frank and laughed. Then he sobered. “But we’re alright, you think.”

“Quite alright,” said Cruikshank, fishing his cricket ball out of the waste-paper basket. “Now come down to the nets with me for half an hour. You can yell encouragement from the sidelines and admire my athletic physique. You know how it excites you to watch me bowl."

“It’s mostly amazement that an ass like you can bowl at all,” said Frank. But he got up and followed him out of the study into the sunny afternoon.


End file.
